


H-1CP

by englishrose (Authorqueen)



Category: How to Train Your Dragon (Movies), Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Robots & Androids, Boys being their sassy selves, M/M, Science Fiction
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-16
Updated: 2015-01-29
Packaged: 2018-03-01 18:34:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2783477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Authorqueen/pseuds/englishrose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack embraced his technophobia. He swears by his brick-like Nokia, and is content living a simple life in the city. He has friends, he has family, he has the job of his dreams. What more could you ask for?<br/>Well - it would help if one of said friends wasn't asking you to harbour an illegal humanoid in his house. It would also help if said humanoid wasn't a gorgeous, sassy control freak.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Workshop

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Sentient](https://archiveofourown.org/works/974899) by [fickleminder](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fickleminder/pseuds/fickleminder). 



> Hello all!  
> So I actually started writing this before MOTN was even a inkling in my head. I’m posting this because I have obvious masochistic tendencies, and heck - I love me some Sci-Fi.
> 
> That, and the boys in MOTN are acting a little OOC for my liking. Jack needs to get over his issues and sass the fuck up. He’ll get there - for now, enjoy H-1CP. If this catches enough interest, I might add more. (On top of doing MOTN…and the Avatar AU…FML.)
> 
> Edit:TOTAL FAUX PAS! Forget to mention that this story was inspired by "Sentient" by FickleMinder. Go read if you haven't!

**CH4PT3R I**

For me, it was all a load of hi-tech mumbo gumbo that really had no appeal what so ever for the best part of three years. I’m not exactly tech-savvy, nor did I really ever want to be. You could keep your noses pressed to your iPads if you wanted, but I preferred to see the world beyond the screen. You know, go for long walks and meet people by _talking to them._ __  
  
Which was all fine and dandy – until the fire happened.  
  
It was all pretty sudden – one minute I’m at work with the kids, minding my own business and trying to get PVA glue out of my ear, the next I’ve got my old friend Kristov North on the phone, asking a favour. A small “iddy-biddy _kroshechny_ favour.” And, being the idiot I am, I bought into it.  
  
That’s how I ended up standing in front of a tiny little workshop - smoking at the edges, windows blackened with soot, and the walls charred and crumbling – with Kristov, who was looking at this death trap of a shop like it was the cave of wonders.  
  
“Why are we here?” I asked, taking off my hoodie and wrapping it around my waist.  
  
“Friend owns this shop, he is in hospital.” Kristov (“Friends call me ‘North’, Jack – remember?”) replied. “There are few things that need to be salvaged.”  
  
With that, the giant bearded Russian strode into the chargrilled shop, with its smoking doorframes and ashy sign board, declaring “ _Gobber’s Gadgets”._ __  
I followed North into the shop, trying very hard not to touch anything. It looked a lot like one of those shops with the robotic yapping dogs that do backflips across the shop floor – in fact, I found myself actually stepping over one of those things as we wandered further into the store. I was pretty confused, because North practically ignored most of the merchandise, heading straight for the till point. Or rather, the door beyond the till point.  
  
North gestured at the door saying “Custom merchandise always kept in back. But we’re looking for particular model. Come.”  
  
When we got through the door, I had to blink for a couple of moments, not sure whether what I was seeing was right. But no matter how much I tried to blink my eyes into focus, the room in front of me did not change.  
  
It was a workshop. _Full of humanoid robots._ __  
  
Technically, it was illegal to have these robots anymore. Too many people disagreed with the human appearance; the bible bashers claimed that the robotics scientists were trying to recreate the work of God. Rights activists started going on about A.I rights – regardless of the fact that most of the drones were just that – drones. They had their programs, and they stuck by them. A lot of people were freaked by the lack of emotion.  
  
I didn’t really get involved. As I said, I’m a technophobe anyway. I’d probably break it by trying to feed it peanut butter or something. So I didn’t really bother with keeping up on the whole robotics argument.  
  
That was until the _Sentience Phenomena_ occurred. It was hard to escape finding out about that – the news and tabloids practically went berserk. All of a sudden, these 'rights' people had a ground to stand on, because a small number of the machines had started to _think for themselves._ __  
  
And then there were the paranoid bunch in government who thought the Sentient Drones would cause an uprising. Pretty much, all humanoid drones – sentient or not – were recalled and destroyed. Ownership of one was illegal. Your robot servants now had to follow a number of regulations – no human-like features: eyes, hair, lips, etc. No human-like voices: they all sound like a tuned-out radio these days. And biggest rule of all – no weapons. If the robot shows any sign of sentience, they are to be reported and destroyed.  
  
And there was me, Jack Frost – the guy who wouldn’t touch an app with a bargepole – standing in the middle of an illegal robotics workshop.  
Funny how things work out like that.  
  
North seemed nonplussed. He just started sifting through the makes and models, looking for something. It was pretty macabre actually. Some of the drones had been caught in the fire, and their prosthetic skin had melted from their metal skele-structure. Eyes stared out at us, blank and unseeing, their eye sockets congealed and slumped halfway down their cheek. Some you could see their painted-white teeth through the hollows of their molten faces, like maniacal grins. I shuddered, passing a female drone with exactly the same eye colour as my own.  
  
“What are we looking for, North?” I asked again, starting to feel that much more agitated.

 North shrugged, not looking at me but still rifling through the drones. “Special model. Gobber asked me to take care of it should he get in trouble.”  
  
 _Get in trouble._ I cast my eyes around the burnt out room again. Then it finally occurred to me; _this fire had not been an accident._ Which immediately had me wondering why I was here. What if the place was still being watched? And why on earth did North need me here if he was only picking up one drone?  
  
I asked him, and North tsked, replying “Is special lock.”  
  
Special. Lock. I kid you not, that’s what he said. “So it needs two people to open some kind of lock?” I guessed, watching as he continued to root around the workshop.  
  
“ _Da, tochno.”_ North replied distractedly. I sighed, rubbing my temple.  
  
“So what do these switches look like? Maybe I can help find them?”  
  
North turned around, looking disgruntled. “I found first – is near door. Second is being harder to find.” He pointed to what looked like a handle that was sticking out the wall, like one of those aid bars for people with a wheelchair. Except that this handle was too high for any wheel chair. I frowned at it, bright blue in colour underneath the sooty grime. Meanwhile, North turned back to the drones, searching behind each of them one by one, muttering “‘ _Is behind doll’_ he said. _‘Cannot miss it’_ he said. _Bozhe moy…”_ __  
  
I, however, was still looking at the handle. Why would you paint it bright blue? It was completely against any colour scheme the room had (pre-fire, obviously. Not that the black, smudgy colour scheme it had now wasn’t very fetching). There was something familiar about it though… and then it hit me. Like a mallet.  
  
Whilst North was still searching behind drones to the left of the room, I walked back over to the doll with eyes like mine, her painted lips now dissolved into a wide, gaping slit in the face, like a maw. I gulped, trying to hold back the bile in my throat, before looking down and taking hold of the drone’s wrist. Its hand wasn’t in much better shape; the prosthetic had bubbled in the heat, and two fingers had melted away, revealing singed metallic bone. I turned her hand over, and read the designation code stamped onto her wrist: **D-0LL.** ****  
  
I looked up, taking in the staring blue eyes again, and understood. With that, I pulled Doll out of the way, gently setting the drone’s body on the workshop floor.  
Behind Doll was another handle, but this one was entirely black – and no, not from soot.  
  
“Er, North? I think I found it.”  
  
North nearly banged his head on the nearest rack as it shot up, leaving the rack of tools and disembodied limbs swaying. “That’s wonderful, Jack! Now when I say so, pull the lever.”  
  
“Lever?”

I raised an eyebrow at North. North just chuckled. “There is no wrong lever, Jack.”  
  
Of course, the big guy knew exactly where my mind had gone. “As long as there’s no croc pools, we’re fine, huh?” I grinned.  
  
North snorted. “Gobber would not use croc pool, is not his style. Booby traps with pointy things is more like.”  
  
I rolled my eyes. “Gee, now I feel so much better.”  
  
North waved a hand dismissively as he walked over to the blue lever. Taking it in hand, he nodded towards me. I reached back and gripped the black lever firmly. “On tri, da? _Odin.”_  
My fingers flexed on the handle. The timing had to be perfect, because I got a feeling North wasn’t lying about the booby traps. “ _Dva. TRI!”_  
  
I yanked the black lever down as hard as I could, then felt my heart plummet as I saw North hadn’t pulled his. What was he doing?!  
  
North had waited a beat, then pulled his lever with all his might. I think he nearly broke it.  
  
There was a very tense moment of silence, in which absolutely nothing happened…

Then we heard it – the faint clicking sound of whirring cogs somewhere beneath us. Slowly, in the middle of the room, one of the floor panels began to slide out of sight, revealing a dark stairway, lit only by an ominous blue bulb set into the concrete wall every five steps or so.

I stared at the stairway, then at North, then the stairs, then North again, before pretty much exploding “What was that?!”  
  
North shrugged. “Is saying Gobber liked. ‘If you don’t know what to do, prepare to be beat black and blue.’ You figured out clue with Doll, and I realised whole saying was clue. Doing both levers at same time - that was obvious choice. You had to prepare for beat between black and blue.” He winked at me, and then started down the stairway that really ought to belong in a horror movie set.

I glared at the Russian’s big bulky back. _Toymakers. They think they’re so clever._

I followed North down the staircase – if I was a bit cautious, who can blame me? The air was still really hot, like the concrete had soaked up the heat from the fire and was radiating it like a giant incubator. The steps were slippery, but the bulbs didn’t give enough light to know _why._ I made myself believe it was just moisture, or perhaps some spilt oil. My stomach was still tightened in a coil, heaving at the thought that I could be traipsing through blood right now…

No. That’s stupid. Gobber was a friend of North’s, and last I checked, North doesn’t usually befriend psychopaths with slasher cellars. Macabre workshops, maybe. But then, the whole macabre, ‘face-burnt-off’ look wasn’t exactly Gobber’s fault.

I took a steadying breath, and practically jumped out of my skin when North announced “This is it!”

We had arrived in a tiny, circular room. To one side, there was a safe and a pantry, stocked with non-perishables. On the other side of the room was a chryo-chamber; the type that people used to stick their drones in to recharge overnight. But this one was padded, as if the owner had been concerned about their drone’s comfort or something. Not that it really mattered – the chamber was empty. Finally, at the back of the room was a desk littered with scrap metal, wires, and a whole host of gadgets. I think I recognised an iron solder from back when I did shop. Bad memories. (Technophobe, remember?)

But the thing was… the desk wasn’t unoccupied. Sat at the desk, there seemed to be a figurewho’d tucked their chin down to their chest, their arms wrapped around something that was being pressed to their chest. The figure hadn’t moved the whole time we’d been there.

North strode forward to the desk, ignoring the figure and instead shuffling around with the few papers that were scattered over the desk. I let him get on with it – he knew what he was doing, even if I didn’t – instead I started toward the unmoving figure, sat curled in upon themselves on the desk’s stool.

You couldn’t see much of them, the way they’d wrapped themselves in a little protective ball. But as I circled the figure, I was able to make a few educated guesses. The arms wrapped around something out of sight, but the arms themselves were pretty lithe and muscular. The figure’s hair was shaggy, just brushing the nape of their neck. I could just make out an adam’s apple through the crook of their neck. Male – despite the two small plaits beneath the guy’s right ear. (Was this guy a hippy or something?)  
Still he hadn’t moved. And I had practically been breathing in his ear. Something was off.

I moved slowly around him, catching a few more details – like how the light reflected off something on his left leg. Upon closer inspection, I realised there was a metal kneecap shining through the holes in the guy’s left jeans leg. On his arms, there were places where the prosthetic had melted away again, little patches of bright silver appearing on his skin. It was a shame – you could see how beautifully detailed the prosthetic was, dotted with freckles to make even the most suspicious of people never notice.  
The t-shirt he was wearing was a khaki green, and covered in engine grease. It looked like the guy helped Gobber in the workshop. I smiled at the idea – the guy… _drone_ had a nice build. It’d probably be pretty cute, cover in oil like a grease-monkey.

Bad thoughts. Bad thoughts. Bad thoughts.

I turned to North, who was now slipping a carefully folded piece of paper into his back pocket. I cleared my throat purposefully, and he turned to face me, looking pretty sober for such a jolly guy. I furrowed my brow in question, but he waved me off, turning his attention to the drone at the desk.

I slowly walked over to North’s side, asking “Did you find what you were looking for?”

North nodded his head slowly. “Da. Only situation is worse than I feared.” He clapped his hands. “First thing is to get young chelovek out of cellar.”

I stared at North, not quite sure I heard him right. “Chlevik? Is that it's name? _Seriously?!”_

North snorted. “Niet. Is Russian word for young man.”

“But it’s a drone.” I stated, looking pointedly at the shiny kneecap and spots of silver on the figure’s arms. North shrugged. “Is still man.”

I must have looked pretty confused, but North just chuckled and started circling the drone like I had. But unlike me, he stopped every now and again to feel the drone – checking joints, he said – until finally he stood up straight, planted his hands on his hips and sighed.  
“Motorised ligament have seized. Control chip is overheated. It looks like few of the wires fried…” he scowled. “I need to get him to my workshop. Soon.”

I watched him rattle the diagnosis off like a qualified surgeon, and realised that in this case he might as well have been. “Ligament seized? What does that mean?”

North said nothing, only came over and lightly tugged at one of the drone’s arms. It barely moved. “The skele-structure is stuck in place. He still needs to be moved.”

Suddenly I was trying to picture getting the drone – frozen in a sitting position with arms wrapped around some mystery teddy bear – out of the burnt out shop and into my beat up Chevrolet without raising too much suspicion. Somehow, I did not see it happening.

“Isn’t there something we can do to… I don’t know, thaw it out?”

North tapped his lips a couple of times, before replying “There is reset systems override, but he will not thank us for that…”

I rolled my eyes. “And if we get caught trying to fit an awkwardly shaped humanoid drone in my car, I doubt it’ll thank us for that either.”

North nodded. “Harashaw.” And with that, he leaned forward and brushed the hair away from behind the drone’s left ear, revealing a tiny switch button. With a twitch of his finger, North flicked the switch. The change was instant.

The drone went entirely limp, slumping sideways off the seat and falling onto its side, fingers loosely keeping what appeared to be a black orb tucked to its abdomen. The eyes were closed, like the drone was merely sleeping. Just like it's arms, the prosthetic skin on it's face was delicately flecked with freckles with artesian precision. You’d think it was completely real. It was even still entirely intact – unlike poor Doll upstairs.

Without much ceremony, North pulled the drone into his arms, its head resting against North’s broad shoulder. North nodded to the discarded orb. “Bring that. Is obviously important to chelovek.”

I picked up the pitch black orb where it lay, and realised it wasn’t actually a whole sphere, but just a ball shape made out of many intricate panels – like _scales._ I was about to ask North what it was supposed to be, but he was already halfway up the stairs.

 

**-:-**

Being back at North’s shop was nothing short of the biggest relief I could ask for. The looks we got from the people outside Gobber’s… I was terrified, okay? I mean, someone only had to notice drone-boy’s knee, and we’d be goners.

North had told me not to cover him in a blanket, because it would only keep the overheated system warm. So we’d driven through town with drone-boy on full view. I’d tried to make it look like it was a sleeping dude when I arranged him, but that would only work so far. I just hoped no-one had really noticed when his head slammed the glass on a sharp turn, and he didn’t even stir.

Now it was lying on the work bench, unmoving still, with the control panel hidden on the side of his left shoulder pulled open. North muttered in Russian as he fumbled with various wires, stripping the plastic covering and replacing the burnt out copper in the wires.

I watch with detached interest. I thought my job was done with the whole “get the drone back to North’s place all sneaky like” bit, but no. North had told me to stick around. He even blackmailed me, saying he’d tell Aster what happened to his expensive acrylics set. (The kids at pre-school had run out of paints! Surely Bunny understood?) So, I was stuck there, pouting like a kid. And I was bored out of my mind.

I’d already wandered around North’s shop – _Moyyeti’s –_ about three or four times now. Again, Toymakers must think they are so clever. When the shop started, it was North making the toys, along with his best friend Phil – both of which being big, hairy men. Which is why, when Thiana jokingly called them the ‘Yetis’ at a get-together a few years ago, the name stuck. _Moyyeti’s._ Literally ‘My Yeti’s’ in Russian.

Give North a gold star. At least his toys were a little more imaginative.

After I’d done the circuit for the fourth time I called it quits, which I how I ended up sitting next to what looked like an unconscious guy who looked at least nineteen, if not older, with his sleeve rolled up on one side like he was getting a shot. North had started humming at one point. It sounded like the Beatles.

My eyes ran over the little spots of silver that littered the arm closest to me, and finally fell on something I had not noticed before. What with clutching that orb like it had been, the drone hadn’t allowed anyone to see the stamped designation on its wrist. But now, there it was, clear as day: **H-1CP.**

Hicpee. Was that seriously the drone’s name? And I thought Chlevik was bad enough. Which name would you rather have, the one that sounded like public urination or a bad case of phlegm in the throat? I suppose you could swap the letters around a bit… Chip? Nah, too Disney. Pich? Somehow I thought not. I know a guy named Pitch – I could do without the association.

“What have you found?” asked North, peering over at me from where he was tampering with the control panel. His eyes looked comically huge in his magnified lenses. I shrugged.

“Looks like its designation.”

North read the stamp on the drone’s wrist, and then beamed, going back to his work. “This explains much. I wondered why Gobber chose such odd name for boy – but it fits with his designation.”

I raised an eyebrow. “So you’re really telling me its name is Hicpee?”

North blinked once, twice, then literally fell to the floor laughing. I’m talking belly laughs here. It was loud. “ _W-where”_ he spluttered “did you get idea like _that?!”_

“Well, it says Hicpee on his wrist!” I replied, gesturing to the limp drone’s arm indignantly.

“HA!” North yelled, jumping to his feet and pointing at me with a look of glee on his face. From where we were a second ago, this was a big ‘Ha’ out of nowhere, so forgive me for being a little taken aback.

“What?” I asked, once my heart rate was back to normal. North looked smug.

“You said ‘his’. You said _his wrist.”_

I shrugged, glancing over at the drone – still undergoing repairs, wires dangling from the shoulder. “Slip of the tongue. It _has_ got a humanoid body, after all. It’s confusing.”

North gave me a piercing look, before shrugging his own shoulders. “Harashaw, if you say so.” He sat back at the drones shoulder and adjusted his lenses. “By the way, his name is Hiccup.”

I ignored the hollow feeling in my stomach that told me I’d just disappointed North big style, and instead focus on the new information I had. I looked again at the drone lying peacefully on the bench. For a machine, it was pretty handsome, I had to admit.

…Well, sure it was a weird name. But anything has gotta be better than Hicpee, right?


	2. CH4PT3R II

**CH4PT3R II**

Waking up the next day was... eventful. I guess a part of me had tried to forget as much about the whole thing as possible. Or maybe it was the fact that I hadn't had chance to munch my way to near sugar-comatose with Lucky Charms yet. Either way, I was not prepared for what happened.

I have this habit of cocooning myself in bed - I'm not a neat sleeper. So I ended up falling out of bed - as per usual - and dragging myself over to my en-suite to start the daisy-day. I may have woken up the apartments around me when I tripped over the sneakers I must've thrown off last night, but I figure the neighbours are used to me by now. Heck, they probably invested in ear plugs months ago.

So I go about the morning routine, throwing on a pair of jeans and a hoodie that passed the sniff test. (Thiana says she's going to find me a boyfriend that actually gets personal hygiene. I say good luck to that.) I open the bedroom door, heading to the kitchen to get the usual bucket of coffee and Charms, only to wake up and smell the bacon. Literally.

At first I thought someone had broken into my apartment. But then, why would they break into my home and _start cooking bacon?_ I went back into my room and grabbed the baseball bat anyway.

When I got into the kitchenette, what I saw was... not what I expected. There was a BLT sat on the counter, with a glass of orange juice.

Of course, sat at the breakfast table was drone-guy, wide awake, and frowning at it's arm, which it was quietly daubing with flesh-coloured liquid prosthetic.

I just sort of stood there. Shell shocked. Gawping like a fish out water. Eventually, it looked up and saw me looking plain awkward, and raised an eyebrow. "Well, good morning Mr Noisy."

-:-

Okay, let me back up a bit here. Having bypassed the orange juice and instead gone for a proper caffeine fix (drone-gu- Sorry, _Hiccup_ did not approve), what actually happened last night finally caught up with me.

North had finished patching up the control panel, and then put some oil in the stiff joints, before he grabbed a rucksack off one of his many shop racks and started stuffing it with all kinds workshop materials. I saw a iron solder go in there, along with an oblong packet of squidgy, flesh coloured stuff, a small pot of paint, another pot full of glue, a few brushes, a set of pliers and clippers, a load of screws and screwdrivers... there was more. I know there was more - I was the one carrying the bag to my car. It weighed a ton.

Finally, he turned to me and said "Chelovek will stay with you."

Imagine how well I took that. "Excuse me? Why am I stuck with the broken drone? I don't know what to do with these things, let alone look after them! I'll break it! With peanut butter!!"

That last bit got a confused look from Kristov. He shook his head at me, smiling. "Hiccup is self-maintaining, don't worry. You can't break him with peanut butter."

"Oh, I'm glad about that. I'm sure it'll be able to look after itself perfectly while it _won't turn on."_

North rolled his eyes. "He is rebooting, Jack. He'll be fully functional by morning. But for now, we need to get him back to your place."

"Why me?" I asked indignantly. "Why not Aster? Or Thiana? Heck, even Sandy would probably be better than me!"

North started to get fidgety, playing with a couple of bolts in his hand. "Aster is busy - is too easy for Hiccup to be left alone. Thiana... she is no good in this case. Her history is against her." North wouldn't look me in the eye now. I frowned at him. "Sandy is just as bad, if not more. I would look after him myself, but I have history too..."   
Now he looked me in the eye, with a level of intensity I haven't seen since Smirnoff released that new brand of flavoured vodkas. "You are only choice, Jack. You have no history. You are perfect cover."

My mind went back to the burnt out shell of Gobber's Gadgets, and how it looked - for all purposes - like a fuse had blown. And yet something about the place told me it wasn't an electric fault at all. After all, the guy was a robotics engineer. You'd have thought he'd be a decent electrician.

"How dangerous is this, Kris? Am I gonna end up burnt alive too?" I looked away from him, my eyes landing on the limp figure of a shut-down Hiccup. Who knew the robot would be so much trouble?

North shook his head firmly. "Niet. Not if I have my say." He put his hand on my shoulder, a familiar gesture that I was well used to now. He'd done it for years, and it never failed to steady me a little bit. "You are good friend, Jack. Hiccup needs that. He is alone now."

I side-eyed him. "I get the feeling there is something you aren't telling me about 'Hiccup'."

North gave me a very small, secretive smile. "He is... very special model."

-:-

I don't know if _special_ is how I would phrase it, but Hiccup was definitely _something._

It didn't bother me whilst I ate breakfast - which was, surprising, pretty good. How can a robot make good food when it has no concept of taste? - it just sat at the table with it's arm held out in front of it, painstakingly painting in the little silver spots that littered it's skin. It was good too - if I didn't know any better, I wouldn't know the difference.

I must have been standing there for a long time, because after a while it said "You just gonna stand there, or are you going to talk to me?"

It raised it's head from it's work again, and I was struck by how really detailed the work on it's eyes were. I mean, I had wondered what colour they would be, as most Caucasian-model drones had blue optics. But these weren't - they were this vibrant green that was flecked with tawny brown and gold. Something told me Hiccup's creator was as finicky about details as Hiccup was.

"Hello-o? You in there? Or do I get to refer to you as 'Mr Noisy'?"

I didn't turn red. My ears just get hot sometimes.

I cleared my throat, surreptitiously scooping my cool from off the floor as I did. "My name is Jack Frost. This is - er - my apartment...I think..."  
It looked like my apartment. Sort of. It was missing a few key things though, like the soda cans around the base of the trash can, when my aim had failed me. Or the unfinished bag of cheetos I'd left on the sofa in the living room. Or the general lack of dirty laundry on the floor.

Hiccup gave me a dry look. "You say that with a hint of uncertainty. Are we going to have to dodge cops?"

I glared at it. "I am not a squatter." I gave another cursory look around. "I guess Thiana must've come over and cleaned up at some point."

Hiccup snorted. "Actually, no. She didn't." I tilted my head to the side in question. It sighed. Do robots get exasperated? "I finished rebooting around 5am this morning. When I woke up, I was..." it glanced around "here. Wherever here is."

I went to tell it, but it spoke over me. "It's probably better I don't know the exact co-ordinates. The point is, Gobber told me to stay where I was put. Looks like I'm staying here. But," at this, the dry look came back again. "I wasn't about to stay in the mess you were living in. Short story? I cleaned up. You're welcome."

...I wasn't sure if I was grateful, or insulted. Maybe both. But before I could really process and respond to that, it'd already gone back to painting it's arm. I guess that's the difference between sleep and batteries - quicker responses.

"I'd get going if I were you - don't you have work?"

I was about to tell the machine where to stick it's morning PMS - seriously, I get less sass from the kids at Pre-K - when I saw the time. "Crap." I grabbed my messenger bag from the cloakroom (I swear I left it in the living room. Fussy robot.) and dashed to the door.

I got down about two flights of stairs - because the elevator never works - then swore under my breath. Car keys. I legged it back up the steps two at a time, and pretty much crashed through the front door. The robot was stood at the entrance, holding the car keys out to me. "Forget something?"

I may have done something childish, like stuck my tongue out or something. When you work with kids, it's sorta hard not to be a big kid yourself. That and anyway it was way too early to think of a smart comeback. I took my keys off it, and headed back out the front door.

As I was walking out, I noticed the glass of orange juice sat on the counter - now drained empty. Huh - guess Hiccup threw it down the sink.

-:-

"I heard about it all from North! So what's he like? Is he as cute as they say? Is it true his eyes are like a forest on a summer day?"

"Whoa, Thia! Down girl!" I laughed, putting down my bag as I got into the staff room. I looked over at my best friend and co-worker, Thiana Dent. She used to work in the ER as a nurse, but decided she was going against that whole "Don't work with kids or animals" ethic, and chose to become our resident First Aider/ Nursery nurse. (Does that make sense to you? Basically, kid gets a boo-boo, Thiana gives it a band-aid and a sugar-free lollipop. All better.)

All the kids adore her, even though she looks like the kind of person most mothers avoid. She must've raided a cosmetics store at some point, because I think she dyed her hair every colour in existence, all at the same time. She has at least three piercings in each ear, and wears purple contacts all the time. I know they are contacts, because I know for a fact her actual eye colour is brown. As is her natural hair colour. I asked her once if her own mother recognised her. I just ended up getting punched in the arm.

Said friend came bounding over, her unnaturally coloured eyes practically glowing. "Ja-a-ack! Give me the deets!"   
I gave her a pointed look. "Can someone your age use the term 'deets'?"

"How old do you think I am?!" she asked, hands on her hips.

I shrugged. "Can't tell - you've disguised yourself pretty well."

"Jack!" she scolded, and I knew that was as far as I could push it.

"Okay! Okay! Botman seems alright - it cleaned my house whilst I was asleep. But do robots always back chat like that, or am I just lucky in that I got one with a sassy chip?"

Thiana chuckled. "Oh come on - stop calling him 'it' and 'the robot', it's mean! It's not like he act likes one!"

At this, I was confused. "But...I'm not trying to be mean. It _is_ a robot."

Thiana's face went from all bright smiles to gray as ash in seconds. "You mean North didn't say..."

"Didn't say what?" I pressed her, but she turned away and shook her head.

"No, if Kris didn't say anything, neither will I. You're probably better off being out of the loop anyway."

I scowled. "Not to be rude, but I'm tired of being out of 'the loop.' North said you all had history, so I had to take Hiccup. _What history?"_ She wouldn't look me in the eye now, busying herself as much as she could. Heck, she even walked out to the coat room to start straightening the kids' bags. "Thiana! I'm already up to my neck in this - the robot is under my roof, and-"

"I said don't call him a robot." Thiana cut across me. Her voice was like the calm before the storm. It was eerie. Whenever she did that, all the kids at Pre-K go quiet and start huddling in corners. I am not joking.

"Fine." I replied calmly, raising my hands to placate her. "Hiccup. Hiccup is living in my home now - I think I have a right to know what I am getting myself into."

Thiana gave me no reply, just a piercing, stony look. "Thia." I repeated. "Talk to me."

She sighed. "I expected better from you, Jack. Really. You are so compassionate and sweet, and yet you can't even..." she trailed off, shaking her head.  
That hollow feeling was back with a vengence, and this time I couldn't ignore it. I watched wordlessly as Thiana walked away, all bright smiles again as the kids started jabbering away at her.   
I pulled my phone - the only technology I can handle, really - and texted North. _You and Thia are hiding something._

It was halfway through the day went I got a reply.

_Not our story to tell._

-:-

It was around 7pm when I got back to my apartment. This is pretty usual, actually. Some parents don't get out of work 'til 6, and it takes them half an hour of bushwhacking traffic to get to the Pre-K to pick up their kids. Then of course there is tidy up, and since Thiana is against robot labour (because it just plain promotes laziness, apparently. I'm not complaining, means there is less for me to break), we end up doing most of the hoovering and cleaning and picking play-doh out of the carpet ourselves.

I'll be the first to say it was awkward, as Thia still wasn't really talking to me. It was our turn to do late shift, after all. The others had already gone home for an early night (Jamie had been complaining about his neighbour's taste for loud rock music all day), and it was just the two of us.  
I'd tried approaching her throughout the day, but she did that awkward, distracting, oh-hey-I'm-changing-the-subject-kids-why-don't-you-glue-sequins-to-Jack's-face?-thing.  
I didn't bother after that. She probably needed a night to cool off.

So by the time I got back to the apartment, I was so drained from the stupid amounts of awkward I'd had during the day, I forgot about the buttload of awkward waiting for me back home.  
That all changed the moment I opened the front door.

"You are so lucky you don't have a dog." called a voice. I frowned.

"Why? This building doesn't allow pets anyway?" I called back, pulling off my trainers and padding down the hall to the kitchen. The robot was sat exactly where it had been this morning at the breakfast table, only now it's eyes were fixed on that black orb we'd recovered with Hiccup. The robot had taken the orb apart, revealing a few circuits that had been fried in the fire. On the table was an array of copper wiring, pliers and tiny spanners, mixed in with nuts, bolts and dozens of silver washers that shone like quarters on the surface.

The robot raised it's head as I stepped into the kitchen, looking thoroughly unamused. "Just as well, huh? Or your dinner would be in the dog instead of waiting in the microwave."

I felt my entire body go stiff at the blatant snark. I was tired. I was grumpy. My best friend was pissed at me because... I don't even know, but it was something to do with the robot. And now said robot was shoving more sass down my throat the minute I got home. Where did this thing get off?! Why the hell was it giving me grief anyway?!

"By the way, could you do me a favour and tell me what your broadband access code is before you leave tomorrow?" the robot continued. "It was a little bit disabling to be so cut off."

"Oh, my apologies." Jack hissed. "Where are my manners."

The robot looked up again with a raised eyebrow. It said nothing. I glared back before finally stomping over to the microwave, pulling out whatever crap the robot had spawned from god-knows-where, and shoving it in the fridge.

I knew it was watching me, and my suspicions were confirmed when I heard it say. "I made that for you. It actually has nutritional value - something new to you, looking at what you actually had in the cupboards earlier."

"Don't care." I called back, not even looking at it. "I got take out."

I heard it tsk in annoyance, but I was past caring. First it tried to take away my morning coffee, and now the machine was judging me for getting chicken Chow Mein. My patience had just about reached it's limit.

That was before I opened the refrigerator.

I stared. First, I was horror-struck. Then I was angry. Then I was positively livid. "Where the hell are my sodas?!" I growled, turning to look at the robot that was still sat nonchalantly at the breakfast table.

"I gave them to some kids on the street."

"WHAT."

"Those things aren't healthy for you." It responded, its eyes fixed on whatever it was tinkering with. "I wouldn't have given them to the kids, but it would be a waste otherwise. And since you like kids..."

"So you _gave them my soda?!"_

"I got you replacements!" the robot argued, looking pointedly at the open refrigerator.

" _Unsweetened ice tea is not a replacement!"_ I strode back to the refrigerator and slammed the door shut. The robot winced, but kept its eyes fixed on the dismantled orb. I glared at it furiously before grabbing my take out and storming to the living room.

I flung myself into the couch, glaring at the room. It was disturbingly clean. And there was a brand new charging dock stuck in the power outlet by the TV. Over by the window ledge, there were a couple of plastic bags full of what looked like clothes. I frowned at them, before yelling "I thought you couldn't leave the house!"

Something clattered onto the linoleum floor in the kitchen. There was some shuffling, and before I knew it the robot was stood at the living room doorway. "I needed to get a few things." It replied quietly. As if it was afraid I'd lose it again.

I snorted derisively. "Like what? Last I checked, robots don't need a change of clothes. They don't perspire."

The robot tensed. "I'm trying to be covert. Humanoids are-"

"Illegal." I finished for it, glaring pointedly. "I know."

It looked down then, its synthetic hair hiding its face. I sniffed before ripping open my Chow Mein and digging in viciously. The silence seemed to drag on, and I wasn't sure if robots could feel awkward or not, but you would think that by the way the drone was shifting from one foot to the other.

I swallowed my mouthful of noodles, saying "What kind of drone are you, anyway? You've got weird-ass settings, that's for sure. You cook and clean, but at the same time you bitch like crazy and give away my property like it's your given right."

The robot had tensed significantly, its eyes firmly stuck to the floor, it's hands tightening slowly into fists. Still it said nothing. I sighed. "Maybe I should get North to have a look at you again. See if there is a reset button or not." An idea flashed into my head. "Maybe that's why you were at that Gadget shop! Were you defective or something?"

The robot said nothing. It didn't even move. I shrugged. "Whatever." And then went back to my Chow Mein.

"I'm not a _drone._ " came the stilted mutter. I glanced up, and saw the robot exactly where it had been last, only now it was quaking, trembling where it stood.

I swallowed my mouthful with a "Come again?"

"I'm not a drone. Drones don't think for themselves. They stand around and wait for orders. They do whatever they are asked, no matter how immoral. I-" it's voice broke a little. "I am _not_ a drone."

I blinked once. Twice. "Oh God." I mumbled.

The robot looked up, his face surprised. I clapped a hand to my forehead and moaned. "North saddled me with a _Sentient."_ The robot's face fell, turning into an expression as blank as slate. At that point, I hadn't noticed. I just kept bemoaning the fact that if I got caught I was sooo dead.

"You know what? No." I snapped, shoving my box of noodles onto the side-table and pulling out my phone. "I didn't sign up for this." I hit the speed dial.

Before I could blink, the drone was stood right in front of me, and it had straight-up hit the cell from my hand. I glared at it. “Ow.”

It didn’t move. It just glared at me, as if hitting the ‘call’ button was a one way ticket to some pretty toasty places. I’m not talking about Bermuda. “Don’t. Call. _Anyone.”_

 _“Excuse me?”_ I hissed in disbelief.

“Those things work on wavelengths. The wavelength can easily pick up my signature, and basically broadcast my whereabouts to anyone who cares.”

“And that would be?” I snarked, giving it an unimpressed look.

Its lips pressed into a thin line. “The kind of people you would not want as house guests.”

“Because you’re already the soul of the party, huh?”

The drone gave a tired sigh and crossed his arms. “I get it, Jack. Okay? I get it. I’m not welcome here. But leaving now would be seriously suspicious. Just… one night. Okay? I- I’ll find somewhere else in the morning.”

I eyeballed him as I chewed on my noodles. Gulping down the pulpy mush, I quipped “Where? Where will you go?”

The drone sighed dejectedly. “Suggest the scrap heap. Go on. I’m waiting for it.”

At that I paused. This thing wasn’t even fighting back. Almost as if it was just accepting the abuse, like it was natural. I hadn’t missed the way the drone’s eyes has dimmed away to flatness, whilst this morning they’d sparkled with something. Something that was now clearly missing.

And that, I realised with a jolt, was my fault.

I sighed, my head falling forward. “Shit…”

The drone tilted its head, bemused. “You want me to go to shit? Somehow, I think that would be worse. The instant ripping apart I can deal with. The slow decay whilst rusting in people’s waste? Not so much.” It shrugged. “Kudos. You outdid me in insults again.”

“That’s not what I meant, man!” I snapped, getting up from my seat.

Something flickered across its face. I wasn’t sure what I’d said, but that was nearly a smile on its lips. It was fighting it though. “What did you mean, then?” it asked coolly.

“I-I meant to say…look, I’m not good at this stuff… who the hell apart from slimy politicians, huh? What I mean to say is-”

“Apology accepted.” Hiccup stated, uncrossing its arms. That was definitely a smile on its face. I don’t care how small it was.

I rolled my eyes. “I didn’t say anything.”

“The intention was there. Your heart rate had elevated, and you were perspiring. Which indicates nerves, not anger.” The robot shrugged one shoulder casually. “For what it’s worth – I’m sorry for going through your stuff and giving away your sodas.”

“S’fine.” I muttered. Hiccup shook its head.

“It was rude. But don’t worry, I’ll be gone in the morning.”

I stared at the robots back as it started pulling together its little collection of plastic bags. Eventually, I coughed out “That isn’t necessary, y’know? I was being a jerk. You can stay… call it take two. Can we try this again?”

I have no idea why I was trying to pacify a machine. I also have no idea why I was trying to get it to stay.   
…Okay, yeah I did. I was actually a pretty lonely guy. Apart from work, I don’t get out much. Sometimes I get the odd babysitting job in my building, but otherwise, I sit and watch reruns of age-old cartoons – like Rugrats, CatDog and Powerpuff Girls. My life, ladies and gents.

So maybe some company would be nice. And hey, dudebot makes really good BLTs.

Hiccup gave me an uncertain look over its shoulder, slowly getting up to its full height (which, to my disgust, is a couple inches taller than me). “You sure? I’m not the easiest person to live with, I know. I work a lot, and my workshop gear gets _everywhere…_ and then there’s Toothless…”

“Wait. I’m sorry, back up.” I said, holding out my hands. “Who is ‘Toothless’?”

At that, the drone’s face positively lit up. It moved past me, spinning around and walking backwards as it said “Wait right here. Don’t go anywhere.” With its hands waving around in ‘stay’ gestures. Like I’m a dog. Do I look like a dog to you? Yeesh.

I hear a couple clanks and bangs in the kitchen, then a strange ringing sound that trilled higher and higher until some female bot voice said “ _Calibration Complete.”_

Then out trotted Hiccup, grinning madly, accompanied by that black sphere we’d salvaged along with the humanoid drone. Only it wasn’t a scaly black sphere anymore. Ohhh no. It had now unfolded itself out, the curves of the sphere now folding in to become cleverly crafted wings. The rest of the thing draped itself over Hiccup’s shoulders like a tamed housecat. But that robot looked anything but tame to me.

“Jack, meet Toothless. Toothless, Jack. Toothless is my invention – he’s fully equipped with a state of the art defence system, high resolution recording systems, sonar, radar…”

Hiccup’s voice petered out as he noticed I hadn’t blinked in the last two minutes. “Jack?” He waved his hand in front of my face. “Jack?”

“That’s a dragon.” I muttered.

Toothless glared back at me, its wicked bright, digitally enhanced eyes staring back – much like a pissed off tomcat. “There is a dragon in my house.”

“…Technically, he’s a robot-dragon.” Hiccup added, probably trying to gauge my reaction.

Eventually, I let out an incredulous laugh. “As long as it’s a house-trained robot-dragon!”

Looking back, I should have known then. Robots are artificial, made to be perfect and beautiful without flaws. But Hiccup… when I said the dragon could stay too, that robot boy gave me the biggest smile possible. He even had a gap between his front teeth.

I’d never seen anything more genuine.


End file.
